Tag: Sci-fi

Deep With You – Part Three: Bondage

‘A flesh and blood vessel propped up and bent to the point of strain. Clothed only in chains, your spirit held down with the wet and warm weaknesses exposed. What is it to be slave? The highest form of love? Or the empty nothingness of un-reciprocated giving? The truth is, a master resides above both.’

Nine days on.

In the blemish-less, hermetically sealed laboratory of the Trafalgar 7, Dr. Samoy was tirelessly working on her dual objectives. Almost in a trance like state of focus, she manipulates the lifeless organism in her gloved hands. The gloves, a product of Black Tech Industries’ (BTI) work on combining human flesh with synthetic polymers. They allowed her to feel its steaming innards with the clarity of a cannibal’s first plunge into another. There in lay the key question…why was this organism’s cells still producing heat energy post-mortem? As her masterfully agile mind navigated that question, her mobile holocom device beeped twice. It was silver, slender and translucent in design – reminiscent of twenty first century phones. It began to glow red, this was the colour she’d assigned to the person messaging. The notification read: ‘All preparations are set, the Devil has agreed to the trade.’ With attention now split, she left her metallic workstation of ornaments and medical utensils, to discuss with her father an entirely different form of dissection.

Only hours away, across the dark diamond dotted emptiness between ship and destination, the Empress was waiting. Reigning upon The rock amoung rocks, a moon of a planet deceased long ago from molten cancer. A small section of a larger inhospitable solar system, home to three war ravaged planets. Space here somehow seemed heavier, like the souls of the dead added substance to it. The fragmented corpses of human and sentient beings, floated within this eternal black milk, cold and forgotten for another day. However, all days in this system of the damned, belonged to her – Empress of Slaver’s Moon, Maureen Of The Devils Melancholia.

Deep within her moon, a castle built of excavated pearl coloured marbel surroundings – this moon cavernous only in density. Inside that, an offensively decadent room she called ‘The Womb’, was where she sat. An ash grey throne against one of it’s four red and gold walls, facing inwards. Two slender humanoid beings; lavishly dressed in embroided robes that left only their LED red eyes visible, guarding left and right sides, as she considered all she owned. Which, in this chamber was twelve – mostly human males, with several others fitting neither category. All who chose to place clothes upon their person were sweating profusely; those without still gleamed with the latent moisture of effort. This was why the Empress referred to it as The Womb. It was designed to be hot and moist at all times, a place to gestate her sexual perversions.

The way she was created: outwardly a vision of a gentle women, full, satisfied and aged from years of mothering, was a cruel fable. Inside she was barren, the organs present, but just desert scape from birth – the entrance synthetically sealed. The rumours floating the halls of this vast sanctuary were that she was a fallen android from the AI revolution on Earth One. The final model of those built for repopulation protocol 6. Now powerful, twisted and bent towards owning what she could never experience – Life and Sex. In front of ‘her’ were individuals of different age, sex and species; suffering various forms post traumatic stress disorder, and all engaging in various duties at the Empresses’ behest. Some, preparing her next meal of the finest imported organisms; other’s cleaning the floors beneath the subtlety swaying sexual contraptions above – occasionally, they dripped something warm. The remainder, haunted by their own memories, would cower in corners hoping for reprieve.

As she watched them perspire and trickle from mid back to the curvature of their bruised cheeks, she reminisced back to moments immaculately stored on her cerebral hard drive. One, of a caucasian human male in his twenties; strong, supple, and bound naked to an ergonomic table. Limbs, spread star-shaped and restrained by old red ropes that had eaten away the flesh on his wrists and ankles. She remembered the look of blood vessel sprawling, red-eyed exasperation on his face, as she commanded the male Hylian from a distant galaxy – ashen with the strength of two men – to masturbate him without mercy, continuing forcefully through multiple cycles of erection, discharge, and recuperation. He had endured this for three cycles already. The lubrication required was running low, the time needed to stroke him out of flaccidity – extending painfully. His defiant moans were becoming screams of derision. The Hylian, lacking in empathy, continued the cruelty, even as the man’s pride lay pathetically limp in his unforgiving and coarse grip. She had her favourite moments within this ballet of hollowing extraction; the image of the man’s sweat drench abdominals convulsing viciously after each ejaculation, or the tears that inevitably flowed from the eyes of the hopelessly tortured, as reproductive organs moved aimlessly inside their wrinkled sack in search of the impossible. However, beyond the sights was the most important thing, the smell. The sad scent of his humiliation; the combined perfume of his body odor and ejaculate trickling slowly off the stained hands of his alien abuser. All of which, accentuated with the note of ripe vaginal fluid, still moist in his pubic hairs from a previous un-consented ordeal. The Devils Melancholia lived for this, her senses augmented beyond human limits, created an almost ethereal experience from the visceral scent.

Another treasured memory she replayed at least a few times a day, was the most stomach turning…but probably the most relevant to her twisted and bitter psyche – the sodomy of the Haitian twins. Being the last people of Earth One to become vegan, they’re scent is said to be noticeably different in the nose of an android, tales go as far as to say they carry the flavor of swine in their darkest openings. Empress Maureen owned the last two in the know galaxies, she worked them hard and often.

In a room where darkness was only slightly cleared by blurs of artificial starlight above. Two of her most athletic female guardians; pregnant, and strapped with well-endowed synthetics, approached ominously. High end and ready, the synthetics were oozing a softly illuminating substance from their micro pores. They self-lubricated like carnivorous sexual deviants, and the wielders pointed them towards their meal. The Empress would grin from the edge of the room; robbed, and hooded as her Haitian slaves trembled nauseously. Only restrained from the waist down and bent over a make shift shelf of unknown material, their arms were free to animate fatigued flails for mercy. Even in such a low-lit space, she could perceive it all, the croaked groans of dried throats as each was forcibly spread open and plunged into. Her pregnant warriors, aided by the length of the synthetics could easily stroke pain and guilty pleasure into them. The glowing substance splashed and dripped down their legs. The twins – side by side – scratched at their own thighs in neurotic anticipation of the depth to come. Their pigmentation made the un-violated parts of them almost invisible, but all things in this heat and stench-saturated room, were perceivable to the Devils Melancholia. The devil’s favourite thing? That each synthetic was different in girth. Meaning, every time the bulbous guardians facetiously swapped victim, the twin’s bodies – unable to acclimatize to either, would be reintroduced to that first eye-watering plunge again…and again.

This was, and is the Slavers Moon Anissa and Captain Dryake approached…

-“Thank you Chief.” Dryake responded, while standing pensively in front of the bridge’s Digitised three by three meter window. It was their only view into the outside, and it displayed in HE (Human Eye) definition, the chaos that was this moon’s surface and orbital surroundings. The space around the cracked and rugged terrain of Slavers Moon, looked like a collision of planets and asteroids paused half a second after impact. Drayke was so focused on it, he pulled back his consciousness from the men and women in his charge, staring, and waiting for his orders. Not in all his years serving had he been so conflicted about a mission. Just before his silence alerted the first waking of anxiety in his crew, Anissa slips her hand into his fist and whispers, “My Captain, take hold of your choice like you do me, if it shifts away, bend it towards your heart and it will succumb to you.” Her words, flowed through him like a soft massage, and he felt the freedom that came from release. Drayke, was now able to trust his instincts, and the plan they came up with together amidst their warm slumbers entwined – legs held between blood warm thighs; heads, resting and hearing the slow beat of a heart loved.

-“Land her 1 click from the entrance to the north subterranean levels Chief, the co-ordinates should be on your pod screen now.”

-“Yes Captain.”

The entire ship’s crews began their own particular preparations for landing: The engineers saw to the ships thrusters and lading mechanisms, the medical department made sure all first response healing gels, where fully stocked into the med kit being taken off the ship; and severe trauma operating rooms were prepared for the worst. The mercenaries rehearsed various tactical battle protocols, while cleaning all the grade one weaponry, Anissa’s deep pockets could bestow. Finally, the kitchen crew – consisting predominantly of AI – had a task perfectly suited to an unfeeling computer program, to reassess and adjust on board ration limits in real-time, if and when the total crew number raised of fell.

However, the most meticulous final preparations involved only two individuals, one lost in lust and emotional transference – of the Freudian kind. The other, simply a lost child, looking for validation.

-“Fuck, I didn’t even know I could do that” Blaise said, under the duress of sexual fatigue. She lay exposed on her bed; skin still emitting the chemically induced heat of climax. She was looking up at Dr. Samoy, her face red with emotions she had no time to indulge.

-“ The female reproductive organ is much more versatile than most realise. When you’ve studied it, and the anatomy of all the known species as much as I have, making you eject that volume fluid is child’s play.” She says, while wiping her slim fingers with a near by hand towel.

-“Still, I’m surprised…it’s never happened before, what is it? It feels like I fucking pissed myself. Blaise says embarrassingly, as she reconciles with the large damp patch under her bum and thighs.

-“Technically you did; It’s urine, diluted with a prostatic-specific antigen typically produced in men by the prostate gland. In women it’s produced by the Skene glands. However, in actuality a ‘true female ejaculation,’ is far less exciting. Dr. Samoy’s tone floated between caring and not so – Blaise could never pic up these subtleties.

-“I love it when you talk science Doctor.”

-“Look, we’re landing soon, clean yourself up and change the sheets. Time to focus.”

-“I know, I know… but are you sure it’s going to work?” Blaise said, as she began getting up and tending to the mess.

-“ Of course, how long have I been planning this? We have more than half the ship’s crew behind us too. One way or another I’ll get it done.” Dr. Samoy’s eyes glazing over with a conviction, Blaise still hadn’t recognized as self-serving ambition.

-“And after that, together, we can leave this floating coffin, and run our own facility with Black Tech Industries back on Earth Two. So much was her belief in the web of love and insubordination they had spun, she spoke the words completely on auto pilot. However, behind Blaise’s scuttling and tidying, Dr. Samoy had already left.

Back at the underground castle, the Devil’s Melancholia, not immune to the compulsion for preparation, organised for the crew of the Trafalgar 7s arrival. The subsequent rendezvous, had been organized by the political representatives of both sides half a year in advance. The outcome of which could change the face of the known galaxies, and she prepared accordingly.

A blue-pigmented female of unknown planetary origins, stood up from a muddy grey coloured table of six. Standing over seven-foot tall, with her hair immaculately styled into braids, she was clad in a precious metal and stone armor of practical design. The five other individuals –four female, one male – sat around this table staring at her, each of their armors and physical characteristics were anchored to their galactic origins. She turned towards the throne, and with a stern voice rippling in an alien dialect; she echoed words throughout the vast spaces within ‘The Heart’ – the chamber where all battle strategies were formed. “Empress, your ‘Dead Army’ have been deployed to all the designated positions of favour, and your ‘Slave Escort’ is chained and ready to depart at your malevolent convenience.”

-“Thank you General, has the messenger been sent to the ulterior location?”

-“Yes Empress, he’s scheduled to meet the contact within 15 minutes of their landing.”

-“Good, now let’s go see what the famous Captain Dryake D. Hamilton has to say.”

Meanwhile the landing party of the Trafalgar 7, were preparing to disembark. All five were congregated in the well-lit atmosphere integration chamber, and dressed in the ship’s vintage dark yellow ‘Reinforced Skin’ under armour; it was tight and left little to the imagination. The party of five consisted of: Captain Drayke D. Hamilton, Princess Anissa Ife, Commander James Dean; leader of the ‘Hidden Shield’ Mercenaries, Dr. Jasmine Samoy, and Lead Engineer Blaise Spur. As typical of any off world mission, each individual had to be injected with the translator serum. This extremely expensive serum, consists of preprogrammed microorganisms that attach to selected brain synapses allowing for the translation of all known languages. Dr. Samoy had administered the serum to all four of the five members, including herself. The last person left was Anissa Ife, ever since she was a child she had always been a great judge of character. As Dr. Samoy approached with the petit serum transfer pen in hand – Anissa remembered how little she cared for the Doctor, and her curve-less figure. Dr. Samoy stood close and asked for Anissa’s hand, the light from the atmosphere integration chamber, refracted off it like a blade. The serum transfer pen’s stainless steel appearance was predominately entrapped by her deviously dexterous fingers. Her left hand, held Anissa’s in a grip easily mistaken for something with intimate design, while clasping the transfer pen expertly in the other. She pressed it on her, and looked straight into Anissa Ife’s eyes as the cold pen bit into her skin.

There was an awkward moment of stillness between them both, until Anissa pulled away to console the tingle on her hand. She looked annoyed yet preoccupied with other thoughts. Most likely, those of how she would perform on – without question the most important negotiation of her short political career. As the princess turned away, Dr. Samoy, couldn’t help but observe the Reinforced Skin gently rub Anissa in places she knew Drayke’s mind played. Just as the feelings of a familiar jealously began to swell, a stare of satisfaction roamed through the busyness of bodies; eventually meeting eyes cold with calculated intent – Blaise Spur, and Jasmine Samoy had recognised each other and smiled.

I was planning on writing the third installment of my Deep With You sci-fi erotica this week. However, i felt completely unmotivated to do so, making the whole endeavour feel like work, and not an expression of the soul. So, with the help of my brother’s inspiring idea to write a poem about a song i like, the addictive internal buzz of creativity returned!

I present my first of many Poems about a poem, or Poems 2. I’ve never seen or read a poem like this (doesn’t mean it doesn’t already exist) so the format, rhyming scheme, content, and tone within a tone are a work in progress, and may differ dramatically in future poems 2. This piece is built from/within the song Dust by Frank Ocean off his mix tape Nostalgia, Ultra.

Dust 2

Who’s that talking in my lab baby…? Is that you?

A voice, the familiar but estranged – can it be you?

No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without my muse? Nothing special.

Our two lovers, still within the throes of passion, continued burning through the lust that evaporated off them. The steam their beating bodies produced, condensed onto the wood and glossed paperback surfaces Anissa’s slender stomach was pressed on. Drayke was in control now; her face turned to the side in a futile attempt to watch him as he worked, her back gently arched – lumbar muscles contracting with beautiful tone. Her ass elevated up slightly off the desk, which, despite its fullness, was being completely suppressed by his powerful hands – no movement allowed if not by his design. So rare was it for her to submit to him, he took special pleasure from such primal positioning.

“Are you ready?” He questioned, as though not already making the warm opening between her squirming legs pulse with each stroke. The way he expanded her soft entrance with slow pelvic movements, made her crazy with heat – she moaned, wanting. Knowing what was to come, she responds with a look of cautious appetite.

“Yes…” Drayke filled his palms with the flesh of her posterior, gripping her hard enough to hurt; the deep relentless pounding of her wet intimacy began simultaneously. The sensations he could feel around and along the length of it, where driving him to addiction and he mercilessly drove every inch of himself into her repeatedly. His stamina almost endless, Anissa wasn’t sure how much more she could withstand. However, she loved the duality of internal ache and climax perpetuating pleasure. The tingling sensations were like wild static charges frivolously erupting from the brief spaces between them. “Don’t stop! Deeper! Harder!” She screamed in complete defiance of the authoritative force behind each of his thrusts. Drayke knew from how rash her breathing had become, and the way she was struggling to keep herself on her toes, that she was close to another orgasm. Although, his pride did take exception to the ability she had – unlike all others, to tolerate his full length, breadth, and sexual aggression, his need to please her thoroughly came before his own ego. And knowing every erogenous crevasse on her body, he slowed down his tempo, and switched tactics.

Releasing her blood warm left cheek from the archaic grip of one hand, while keeping one enslaved in the other, his change in pace had brought her back from the edge. Now she was staring over the cliff face, starving for the explosion of gratification that the climactic fall would bring. Nevertheless, Drayke held her back from it; her private parts were weeping and trembling – imploring him with every deliberate entry. Left hand, channeling desire into his mind by manipulating it’s voluptuous captive into revealing more…His other hand scheming to gratify her naughtiest pleasures, found it’s thumb roaming – she knew it’s destination. Thus presenting it to him obediently and unashamed, waiting impatiently, coveting the multiple sensations. He proceeded to satiate every need welling up inside her as vigorously and completely as she could handle, causing her fatigued spirit to helplessly scream in ecstasy. Finally, he let her fall – her body crashing into the aftermath of desires. Seeking his own completion, he unloaded his lust; their primeval tones synced and echoed erotically through the aisles of this large room of learning. Their breathing gently returned to normal as he kept himself inside until she went still.

Just outside…

“For God sake they’re at it again…” One of the men from the General Support Staff says to his female colleague – who can’t help but laugh childishly as they walk past the Star Chart Observatory entrance, on their way to the Chamber of Rest and Recreation. In another room two tiers up, a far more important conversation was taking place. Dr. Jasmine Samoy was having a holographic video communication with one of a party of three corporate grade individuals, who’d invested heavily into the voyage to Slaver’s Moon. Her office was sparse, clean, and clutter free, just like the plain unbranded attire she wore on her lightly tanned skin. Most paper materials had ceased production after the global blight of 2050 ravished Earth I plant life. Any wood based products found in the solar system now came from Earth II and only to those with very deep pockets. Surrounded by bespoke, pale yellow coloured walls, she sat, legs crossed, on her slender aluminium stool as the conversation unfolded.

“Doctor, have you been able to verify the origins of the sample we sent you?” the voice says impatiently through the static interference.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you before, we must be travelling close to a solar storm. Yes I have Sir, but the results are unexpected. I would like a few more days to retest the sample against the ‘Nouveux’ elements.”

“Impossible Doctor, my associates and I have to report your findings back to the president of Black Tech industries tomorrow morning in person.”

“I understand that Sir, but I am putting my career at risk just by possessing this sample. If the Captain knew I had it on board, let alone the real reason we were going to Omega Seven, he’d probably stick me in a cell.” Dr. Samoy’s tone was elevated and laced with genuine fear of the multitude of potential consequences that lay ahead.

“Didn’t you say that you’d be able to handle him?” Dr. Samoy paused… “Listen, it’s too late for cold feet, our time is fast approaching, and we all have to be ready for what Black Tech are going to do with Slaver’s Moon.” Dr. Samoy knew this to be true, and narrowed her focus away from the doubts and towards what was necessary.

“I understand Sir, it will be taken care of.”

“Good, I’ll let you get back to work, send me a holocom transmission of your final report on the organism within the hour.” Before he could click, the holocom closed, Dr. Samoy quickly speaks,

“Father, one more thing – do you have any objections with me removing Princess Anissa from the situation?” Her father, Vincent Samoy – galactic entrepreneur and former Earth II government official, responds cautiously…

“If it doesn’t affect the mission, deal with her anyway you see fit.”

Captain Drayke D. Hamilton’s vessel, The Trafalgar 7 – built from the finest interplanetary alloys, glided through the darkness of space, navigating fringe science like it were the bedrock of it’s existence – neared it’s destination. Unbeknown to both, there was a deep sickness growing within its vast interiors. A mutinous affliction eating away at all facets of engineering aboard the ship, and at its centre, a once mild-mannered woman stood, the conductress in front of her ensemble of dissenting voices and disgruntled characters. From here – Chamber 207e, she garnered the infection.

“You’ve all seen the way she favours him! We all know what they get up to in the Captain’s private quarters!”

The gathered white coats and hard hats roar in agreement.

“Not even the decency to keep their relationship professional in front of the crew, kissing on the bridge like they’re the main characters of some tacky sci-fi erotica! But I ask you? When was the last time any of you kissed your loved ones?! Didn’t the Princess say that this would be a simple six-month diplomatic voyage? But now, I’ve been told by the only person who deserves your respect and loyalty – that when we’re on Slaver’s Moon, the Captain will impose a complete blackout on holocom transmissions! And whose idea is that?? His royal concubine’s!”

Groans of derision saturate the air.

“She is on this ship to look out for our best interest! The interests of her hand-picked, non-military crew. But no…she’s up there, servicing the Captain with the same mouth she needs to be sanctioning the dim-witted mercenaries when they abuse you, Tom, for having a stutter, or sexually assault you, Jane! In this room, we have some of the highest intellects on Earth II, yet we’re treated like 19th century mineworkers! WITHOUT US! THE SHIP GOES NOWHERE!“ She screamed, the woman’s face red with the design of anger as her once blonde hair thrashed wildly around, it’s new dark sullen tones of brunette and purple danced in the indistinct fluorescent lights as she gesticulated frantically.

The horde of once civilized workers fed off her vehement protestations, yelling back angrily in affirmation of her message. If the sound could escape these walls, then civil war they would have signalled.

With her concert of manipulation completed, the conductress left the engineering tiers to return to her room. At the same time, far away in their own private circle of reflection and deduction, Drayke and Anissa discuss the mission and the progress of their journey towards it.

“How much longer until we arrive?” She says, as her mind wanders back and forth from focus – still having flashbacks to their session in the Observatory.

“The Solar storm is a bit of a nuisance, but Trafalgar can handle it. We’ll increase our velocity once we’re passed this system of planets.”

“How long Dray?”

“Ten days” he answers avoiding eye contact. Anissa was the only woman able to bring out such boyish guilt from the Captain.

“You said it would only be a couple more days, and that’s what I told my crew.”

“Your crew? I thought I was the Captain”

“Maybe when I’m not wearing underwear”

“Funny – but I’ve told you to stop thinking of the crew as your personal responsibility, you treat them like they’re your own kids.”

“I can’t help it…anyway, I don’t want to have this argument with you again. Just give me some good news I can tell the ship.” As concerned as he was about this maternal sense of hers, it was also one of her more enchantingly softening traits. It made him want to say the three words to her he’d caged inside his chest.

“Tell them that they’ll get an extra 100MGs for each extra day that we’re overdue.”

“Can you afford to do that?”

“No, but our investors can”

“I don’t think they’ll be happy with the cost of this voyage increasing again before we’ve even arrived”

“They’ll be happy with what I tell them to be happy with.” He responds, a layer of disdain palpable in his words, as if recalling an unpleasant history with one or more of them.

“And you?” Drayke swiftly changes the subject.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say once we arrive? The people of Omega are not known for their empathy…”

“I’ve been thinking about it more and more the closer we get, but it’s nothing I’m not used to – hostile negotiations are my specialty,” she says with an assurance born from the many power-obsessed dictators she’s verbally wrestled away from office and country. However, the situation they were moving towards was mutating rapidly into one unrecognisable from the mission brief they’d received upon departure.

“I know they are,” he replies with a flirtatious smile. “But, when dealing with the Omegians, I find preparing for the worst becomes prerequisite.”

“Yes I can tell from the charming group of mercenaries you’ve brought along.”

Drayke and Anissa continued their discussion for a further hour, sitting close and taking in enough pheromones to propagate attention-stealing affections. Despite this, their un-clarified relationship status took a back seat to the importance and responsibility of the task.

Far beneath them, the wheels of fate turned continuously, and one of its cogs was circling at the same pace our conductress was walking, heading patiently towards her residence. Once there she noticed the sliding door was already unlocked. Unfazed, she slid it across and walked in. Inside, the room was set to a brighter lighting arrangement than she’d left it. Knowing what this meant she speaks out into the room.

“Already making yourself at home I see” In response, a women steps out from the bathroom, jet black hair, long and heavy with moisture. Her face was smiling in expectancy, the rest of her body taut from the fresh chill of conditioned air flowing around them. She steps forward, exposed parts moving accordingly, and says.

“Blaise, how did it go?” the conductress always loved it when she said her name; there was a tone to it that suggested a hidden sentiment behind the formalness. The naked woman before her, though unassuming in her appeal, had found a way to lure out parts of her she never knew existed. Unlike the immature male suitors, she had during her formative years in a New England suburb. Blaise, missing the strength of character she’d just displayed to over fifty people, responds sheepishly.

“It went well babe” the words, blushing out of her. She was shorter than her lover, and was never more aware of this than when giving a report back to her. She was wearing the white and black engineering department uniform of overcoat, one piece and sturdy shoe, she played with the buttons on it subconsciously as she continued. “They’re definitely with us, the bit about the Captain not allowing holocom transmissions was a just perfect, and they behaved exactly like you said they would.”

“Of course they did, have I ever lead you wrong, Blaise?”

“Never babe, but…when are we going to go to the next stage of the plan? If we leave it too long, some of them might find out that not everything I’ve been saying is the truth…”

“Don’t worry about that for now, I’ll let you know when the time is right “

“Okay then, but I should probably go back to work though, it’s still a couple of hours before lunch and need to lead from the front.”

“Oh definitely, I don’t like slackers. However, before you go, can you help me get dressed?” the chill in the air suddenly changes to something warmer, something seductive. Blaise, pleased to no longer have to wait to touch her replies,

I am in the very early stages of creating the world of possibly my next novel and its main protagonist. So I just wanted to give you guys an exciting introduction into both! Please let me know what you think of the character and the potential story that could spawn from this introductory chapter.

The Chronicles of Aron Sherapova: The Ties That Bind

Character designs drawn by Vinh Nguyen

The Leviathan Order Of Five – watching, smirking, and absorbing from their perched views, waited for her journey’s end to come.

Below…

Aron Sherapova was screaming in a blind rage at the evil incarnate that stood before her; steel blade in one hand, and her 5-year-old son in the other, dangling from his neck – which through a mother’s eyes, looked frightfully brittle in the murderous man’s callus grip. She let him know that threatening her child’s life would be his final act on this earth. His soft little face stared back bleakly at her, with no understanding of what was about to happen to him – he just cried helpless tears of an infant lost, hoping to be saved into his mother’s arms, rescued from the danger like she did on those nights that he awoke from dreams terrified. She fought back the uncontrollable weeping from pouring out of her, by feeding the rage that was slowly making her nuclear with blood lust. With sweat dripping from her face and the look of death itself in her eyes, she promised to claim his life with her own bare hands.

There was another person involved in this sadistic game, a seated, quiet, and aged man, tentatively placed to the left of the maniacally laughing monster in front of her. She didn’t recognize him, a withered man, bearded with cracks of tiredness littering his stone expression. He was facing her, but his attention seemed to pass through her, and to the lifeless walls that surrounded them. Aron had already assessed the damp poorly lit room for exits, weapons and tactical advantage, however, it was becoming more and more saturated in the smell of blood, and she could not discern from where. The smell reached up her nose and into the back of her mouth, the subtle taste of metallic rust trickled down her throat with every nervous swallow of spit. Her attempts at deducing its origin were being obstructed by the swearing, and spat questions he hurled at her. All animated with the insanity life times of perpetual ruin brings, but to earth’s legend, and once ‘Guardian of Time’, Aron Sherapova the only question that mattered was whose violence would determine the outcome of the unfolding events?

“ISAAC, I’m going to give you one last chance to put Manu down…”

“Put him down?! Why? He’s mine as much as he is yours, maybe more so…plus he likes playing hostage with his father – don’t you son?”

“You’re not his father! I fucking swear to God that I’m going to kill everyone you ever loved Isaac.”

“Me first.”

Aron screamed horrifically for her boy’s life, as though hoping that the desperation in her voice could somehow shatter the blade descending onto her weeping son’s chest…

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

The woman who would be heroin and protector of all things in times to come, was for now, just beginning another day in her somewhat ordinary life.

“I’m going to be late for my client!” It was 7am and Aron was rushing out of her flat in Hackney, which she shared with two other housemates. The spring weather was just beginning to permeate through the atmosphere and the refreshing feeling of a new dawn was cloaking her troubles nicely. Until, she checked her phone – sliding her figures impatiently across the screen she discovered three messages. The first;

Aron just kissed her teeth thinking about how many times she’s told him that Derek is bad news, and that he’ll eventually break his fragile hipster heart. The second a text message from NatWest – ‘You have gone over your agreed limit, please address the balance on your account by 3pm to avoid any un-arranged overdraft fees.’

This was already the second time this month that she’d gone over her account’s limit, and with her gym rent due in a week, it was definitely not going to be the last. The third;

This made her stop dead in the middle of the pavement, only meters from her bus stop. ‘This woman was haggling for a reduced rate like I’m selling fish at a market, talking about how she’s desperate to look great for her wedding, but now she’s already missed the first two sessions of the block!’ She thought to herself, oblivious that the hair now in her face and mouth had been blown there by her bus speeding past. Thankfully, for her, she no longer had the same time constraints around her morning. She didn’t bother replying, spat the hair out of her mouth in contempt and clicked the phone shut, still cursing Becky, and the fact that she had to wake up earlier than necessary under her breath as she strolled towards the bus stop.

When Aron arrived at First Fitness – a company she always felt had delusions of grandeur, she was greeted by one of her least favoured colleagues. This individual’s name was Terrence, and everything from the low hang of his tracksuit bottoms, forever-creased Personal Training t-shirt, and tendency to comment on her body rubbed her the wrong way. Occasionally, she would even daydream about kicking him over a rowing machine. However, in real life she’d never once struck someone for pleasure – play fighting with men twice her size excluded of course. Aron Sherapova as far as she could remember had always spent her spare time playing sports with older boys; she found most of the girls and boys of her age far too fragile. The six-inch ever-present, yet slightly faded scar on her forearm was a reminder of those brutally effervescent days.

After her forced ‘hi, how are you’ to Terrence, and an impotent ‘fine’ response from him, she made her way downstairs towards the staff room. Aron only briefly shifted her focus from her destination, to smile at the gym members she thought were polite and serious about their training. Lazy people always reminded her of the introverted room-mate at the orphanage; who’s company, poor hygiene and incessant complaining she’d endured for years – and thus were shunned from her sphere of acknowledgment, unless she was being paid to do so. In that circumstance, she could feign interest like a world-class lady of leisure.

She opens the staff room door.

“Mon!” Aron shouts gleefully.

“Hey my pretty,” Monique says, with a smile honest and large enough to bring light to the darkest room. Aron sits beside her closest friend, and hugs her firmly as though trying to imprint her affections directly onto Monique’s body. Monique feels the strength of her embrace and asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just the same old stuff; rent, clients cancelling sessions and a narcissistic house mate who can’t keep his legs closed, or is it butt cheeks?”

“Arrgh, Don’t be nasty” Monique says with a begrudging laugh rattling around in her throat. “Oh yeah, was going to text you last night but, fell asleep swooning over Michael B Jordan, how did therapy go?

“It was okay,” she replies with a pause of uncertainty.

“Do you think he’ll be able to help you remember?”

“No one else has so far, but apparently he has some special way of recovering subjugated repressed memories as he calls it. Sounds like expensive rubbish to me, but I’ve got another appointment at the Leviathan Community Clinic today at 2pm, so lets see.”

“You’re so incredible Ronny. To go through what you have and not be in jail or worse is amazing. Honestly, I hope that if you ever remember your life before that time, it was just a normal beautiful one. You really deserve it.”

“Aww thanks hun; it means a lot to me you saying that.”

“I really mean it, and I know that there are wonderful things in store for you in the future. Maybe even that new PT Sam…”

“Who?”

“You’ll see, I think you two will get along”

Hours pass, in typical fashion – the gym is a rich sea of semi lost individuals hoping to find a system of cardio based effort that will make them thinner than they are. Some exercise professional, navigating those waters as sharks attracted to the scent of misguided sweat and effort, hoping to feed on the insecurities. While others, as coast guards hoping to rescue the unfortunate ones, those seemingly and haplessly drowning in the almost infinite ways to exercise one’s body. Aron, being one of the latter is looking to pick up some new clients during her small reprieves between sessions and teaching classes. However, this was a day where normality of routine was not going to last.

Before it was time for her usual midday power lifting session, her attention was drawn to the ‘front of house’ reception area. In her hawk like periphery vision, she saw the familiar gesticulations of two people arguing. The sounds of their raised voices immediately followed, Aron’s senses were far more attuned to violence than most women, or men of her demographic and her adrenaline began flowing. She saw that the person working at reception was the frail mannered Jessica. Smartly dressed and disarmingly beautiful she may have been, but that was the only situational disarmament her presence was capable of. A true ornament of the corporate hiring practices – brittle and useless. Aron moved towards them instinctively, they were two men dressed like estate agents arguing about, what seemed to Aron’s discerning mind, one person ‘stealing’ the other’s parking spot. Another thing that became clearer as she calmly approached like an animal confident in her camouflage, a concealment born of the localised focus of fight or flight instincts between two posturing males. Is that the taller man with dense fiery orange hair, freckles, and the unique fair-skinned beauty of a mixed raced instagram sensation, was not the aggressor. In fact, the other slightly shorter, less broad-shouldered male was barely holding on to his faculties, as he vomited out the kind of foul language you’d expect in the locker room of the most intellectually diminished Sunday league football team. The amber-haired man was trying to defuse the situation to no avail. Then suddenly recognising that moment before a wild barking dog mauls flesh from bone, Aron explodes forward – discarding the ground beneath her plantar flexed Nike trainers nonchalantly. The force generated by her powerfully sculpted thighs places her almost instantly between the crazed man’s fist and his target – the other gentleman’s perfectly sculpted jaw. Everyone, inside or outside the gym had now stopped what they were doing to observe the commotion, witnessing in silent shock as Aron took the full force of the punch to the side of her face.

After a few awkward seconds, the irrational individual that had just assaulted a First Fitness member of staff appeared immediately sobered up. Like the realisation, that he’d struck a woman had poured ice-cold water over his rage. However, he could have been forgiven for thinking otherwise, as Aron had barely even taken a backward step upon impact, she absorbed his blow like a young Mike Tyson. It would have been very unnerving to anyone not too shocked by the incident to notice, but that was no one, and it went unseen.

“Hey miss are you alright?” the man who’d just been protected by Aron spoke, tapping her on the back of her right shoulder. She didn’t respond straight away. ”I can’t believe you hit a woman! That’s disgusting.” He continued, with a corral of voices in the background agreeing with him. The now neutered animal, stuttered nervously in his response.

“I didn’t mean too, where the hell did she even come from? I swear I wouldn’t fucking hit a chic!” Aron, brushing a portion of her thick long hair from her face, turns to look at the man directly and states clearly,

“You need to leave now.” With almost the whole gym watching, he doesn’t utter a word, instead carries his shame with him as he leaves the premises, tail between his legs.

With the main instigator gone, the crowd disperses like insects at the sight of a raised heel. Jessica was still standing behind the counter in all her inept glory, she watched as Aron turned towards the worried figure in shirt and blazer. When they locked eyes, a world of dark brown and green tinted hazel collided, causing a chain reaction of micro expression in both their flushed faces. Then Aron, felt the spark of something life-altering in grandeur within her flicker as he placed his hand on her shoulder, asking again ‘if she was unhurt’. She smiled softly, it was a slightly awkward movement of lips, as unguarded dainty smiles were unfamiliar currency to her. Aron’s response though, was more typical of her boyish character, “Course I am, he punches like a girl.”

“Anyway, sorry about that sir, do you want to make an official complaint about that member’s behaviour?”

“Nah don’t worry about all that, I have to get back to work anyway, but I would like to get your name please?” He says trying not to sound like an opportunist.

“Of course, take my business card” She picks one out from the PT board by the wall near Jessica, and doing her best not to let on how attracted she was to this polite well spoken man, she places it coolly in his hands. He begins leaving, and just as he is about to disappear into the realm of will he, won’t he call me, she breaks decorum and shouts, “What’s you’re name then?!” Spinning around briskly, he responds with equal energy,

Deep with you

‘The pounding is incessant…he won’t give me a second to breath. My back, it aches…I need a reprieve.’

Anissa Ife, was referring to her captain’s constant thumping on her bedroom door. He wouldn’t except that their day’s interaction was over, and so was continuing an aggressive one-way conversation with the automated door to her private quarters. She was exhausted from their earlier argument about the performance of the ship’s crew – who, she had personally vetted and recruited for their six month-long voyage to the slaver’s moon of planet Omega Seven. He was like most three star captains – stubborn, but so was she. Anissa Ife, the last pure-blooded black princess of Earth II, had tamed many powerful men, some sought to exert authority over her domain because of her fledgling years, others attempted to manipulate their way into her body’s darkest and most mineral rich places. Although a diminutive figure of regal grace, when she deemed it necessary, her gravitas was palpable, like feeling her will inside your flesh, the majority found it very unnerving and would shy away from her in these special moments. However, Captain Drayke D. Hamilton found them exhilarating, all his senses would almost sizzle themselves numb at the sight of her true uncompromising self. For him, like when his Father would purchase a wild New Mexico stallion on the cheap, (because it had already badly injured six men) then challenge him to break it in – the difficulty of the task, and strong likelihood of physical pain before pleasure, was exactly what he thrived on. After all, this was one of the few non-academic hardships available for the Deep Space Program’s youngest ever recruit.

Anissa, for now was tired of their highly charged relationship, and sought to sooth her mental and physical complaints with a hot bath. Cocooning her consciousness in classic Earth I Jazz music, and the gentle tranquilizing glow of slow dancing candle light. All of which were scented, and carefully placed around the ceramic womb her soft naked body was to be submerged in, as if it were an offering to the four tribe Gods of her native Zantili. Thus, his relentless requests to be allowed inside were ignored until they became a silent acceptance. Her sleeping quarters were relatively modest for someone of her station – this was of her design. While on this half-year mission she desired to keep the connection between herself and the vessel’s crew as intimate as feasibly possible. Her father, a great psychologist in his day, had taught her the many ways in which to elicit feelings of trust and loyalty from people – she employed them diligently. This connection was just one of the many things she pondered while soaking herself in the sauna warm cocktail of luxury bath salts, and the soapy run off of golden gel she lathered across her blemish-less body. After she’d finished caressing the full length of her leg, she sighed, tilted her head back to rest on the reflective white tub’s ergonomic headrest. Slowly, this obsidian princess drowned her entire glistening leg into the water, like one would a tender loin passionately seasoned by caring hands, making sure every inch was elevated in both flavour and feel – before immersing it in a liquid slumber, to only rising again for the nourishment of the one you love.

As Anissa’s worries dissolved off her and into the water, so did any tension she felt towards Captain Drayke –as it was customary to address officers of this Earth. Now instead, her meditating mind rolled away layers and layers of memories to reveal the first time she’d experienced him. They’d crossed paths the day before, at a dinner gala for the retiring president of Earth II’s foremost quantum energy industrial empire. However, to hear of the captain’s effortlessly rugged demeanor or intellectual domination of lesser mortals, and experience them, are two very different things. Therefore, although this was their second meeting of eyes, it was on this day, that her body was truly introduced to Drayke D. Hamilton.

She recalls an ordinary morning at her family’s estate; she’d gone out into one of the northern fields in the hope of observing the behaviour of the undisturbed wildlife. All manner of fascinating creatures congregated there by her planets famed crimson petal oak tree. To her surprise, she wasn’t the first there. It was still very early and the sun was lazily hanging above the horizon, painting the landscape in morning amber. However, there stood three male figures, seemingly doing some kind of obnoxious dance that supplemented loud groans of vulgarity. It was only after twenty or more inquisitive steps forward did she recognise one of them as Drayke.

In that moment, Anissa’s understanding of the scene in front of her became vivid, as though suddenly conscious that she had painted it into existence herself. If that were the case, she, with all her affinity for the arts, couldn’t have done a better job – before her was a masterpiece, a seducing display of brawn the likes of which her senses were not prepared for. Drayke was stood naked from the waist up, the other two men also, however neither could boast a physique so well-developed – Drayke had the stature and presence of a warrior. As she became transfixed on all that he was, she was simultaneously being disarmed of her own power, his beautifully caramel complexion looked gentle and soft as the perspiration on it glimmered in the early sun. However, before she was stripped bare, the base in his voice reverberated through her thin dress and chest, it startled her into focus. His eyes however were firmly fixed on his two opponents as he punished them repeatedly for their inexperience, bringing them to their knees like lost boys before the original man. Although only seeing his whole face in glimpses, his eyes sucked at her soul, she couldn’t help but become weak at the way their darkness, combined with the curl in his eyelashes escaped the bearded ruggedness of his other features. Creating a portrait of safety and danger that spoke to her baser instincts, this induced the first quiver of feminine appetite from between her.

She ambled around in this memory for a while, but before long its accompanying sensations slowly drew her back to the present, her marauding mind was being ushered here by drowning butterflies of lust. This, at times could become an insatiable animal…consuming all who awoke it in their entirety. Although its vast hunger was evident by the salivation within, if she fed it now, it could be appeased with just a little feel of flesh – her hands travelled to where they were needed. The left, applying undulating pressure to her breast, the right one in-between her thighs with slender fingers slowly stroking. Despite the water around it, she could still differentiate the feel of soft moisture within it. Anissa’s hunger purred with each caress, the butterflies of excitement rose into her abdomen – she was now committed to the act. She thought about the last time Drayke was inside her, and the movements of her fingers became more purposeful in response. She remembered the deeply satisfying intake of his firm manhood as she played to her writhing desires. Her thoughts, now flickered to the strength of his grip on her waist and neck – his power, enough to hold her still as he sought different rhythms at which to slide pleasure into the wet wanting spaces. The force of which, would be dictated by her compliance to the whispered commands in her ear. The feeling of pleasure emanating from her centre was so delicious it began to make her feel weak, she didn’t resist its call for climax, and instead let her body melt into the feeling. Now, so feverish was her appetite that, she shed all teasing distractions and focused only on how it felt to massage her pulsating lips – with extra vibrating attention applied to the soft protruding tip – she was on the precipice. Anissa was relentless, the speed of her efforts rippled and splashed outwards in the still warm bath water, her perfectly contoured legs started to stiffen as her breathing deepened further and further. Each rapid left right shift of wetted friction brought the arcane contractile explosion from her pelvic floor closer and closer. Seconds rushed by, and before she could bare her soapy chest in a final breath before bliss, it hit her – every muscle in her lower abdomen clenched as the ecstasy jolted out from the spaces between her squirming shivering thighs. Then, after a few more numbingly pleasurable seconds, her orgasm completed its sensual healing with slow radiating waves that relaxed her entire body completely into the water.

The next day.

Breakfast was served by the on board kitchen crew at eight am Earth time, they consisted of the finest culinary androids and waiters available anywhere in the known galaxies. The Captain was always the first one to arrive at the communal dining hall – he liked to observe how and in what order the crew assembled to eat their most important meal of the day. Ten minutes in and most of the upper and mid level crew were seated and enjoying various delights from their home world and beyond. The lower level crew, whose main job it was to attend to the mechanical and engineering sections of the vessel, always strolled in later than the rest. There were rumours of grievances emanating from within that section of the ship, however Captain Drayke didn’t want to address them at this particular moment, plus crew relations were Anissa’s department. Just as his attention was returning to the half-eaten meal of random protein and vegetables in front of him, a tall slender shadow eclipsed his surroundings. It was the shadow of Dr. Jasmine Samoy, a brilliant biomolecular engineer…she had the look of the girl next door, but the cunning of a wild street fox. Dr. Samoy had a complicated history with Drayke that dated back to their time at the Space Program’s Academy, the whispers on the ship were that he had taken her virginity back then, and although remained friends, she harboured ill feeling towards him and his relationship with Anissa. Another, more popular theory was that they had taken part in a ménage à trois that went terribly wrong.

After a quick interaction of trivial small talk built on a scaffolding of hidden agendas and repressed feelings, the Captain began to notice the missing piece. Perhaps it was the speculative presence of Dr. Samoy that sparked it, but he was now aware of Anissa’s absence. They usually had breakfast together, comfortably sharing space and focus the way in-love couples did. He never feared what the crew would make of their very public relationship, and he was the kind of leader whose authority and actions were never questioned – publicly anyway. He recalled the sour way in which they’d left things last night, and hoped that she weren’t still upset about what he’d done. This made his heart ache slightly, he wanted to see her and peacefully reconcile their affections. In that moment, Dr. Samoy knew that Drayke was no longer paying attention to her; she frowned at the idea that he was thinking about her, however, for now she knew her place and divulged Anissa’s location to him. Without too much acknowledgement of her civility, he stood up, and as he did, so did the entire hall of more than a hundred people, all of notable specialist skill and military stature. However, in front of this man, all knew themselves to be less, and thus showed him almost regal respect as he entered or left a room. Then to the sound of a hundred men and women seating themselves, he disappeared to find her. The Doctor watched his broad shoulders prop up the medal studded blazer she once helped him try on as he strolled away hatefully, like when she had to watch her father go off to see a ‘work friend’ as her mother lay upstairs sobbing pathetically. Months before, she had already vowed to never become like her…the mechanisms of her plan were already in full motion.

“Why would she be in the Star Chart Observation Room” was the only thought that circled in his head as he made his way to her. Knowing the ship as he did, made getting there from the dining hall seven levels down relatively quick, and as he stood before the metallic entrance – he thought over what he would say to alleviate any concerns she may have about his dedication to their future plans. Once ready, he accessed the room with his key card and walked straight to where she was stood. Anissa Ife was standing facing the star chart on the ‘starboard’ side black wall of this colossal room. It resembled a dark canvas with countless diamonds poured onto it, with some mystically spiralling together to form galaxies and others becoming cloudy like the dying stars they represented. The centre space within the room was akin to the layout of the ancient libraries of the 21st century. She must have felt his presence as she turned to face him, because the doors of this ship slide inaudibly. Drayke, walking with the humble valour of a returning solider, stopped only a few steps away from her as their eyes met – she was the only woman who could give him pause. Before he could preach his rehearsed concession, she stepped towards him, and placing her hands on his firm chest said, “Fuck me.”

In only a few seconds Drayke had already tore her blouse half off, and was attending to her exposed chest and neck passionately. As one of his large hands grabbed her full and curvaceous ass intently – the intention being to forcibly lift her onto her toes, the smell of the moisturiser she’d used radiating off her blood warm breasts, drove his desire to eat her uncontrollably to the surface. He gnawed at her perked nipples and felt her grip him tightly in response. As his left hand, reached around her slight waist, beyond her laced underwear and seductively manipulated the entrance to her female passion; he whispered with hot bated breath, “I can’t wait to feel my hard dick slowly open up your tight wet pussy.” She reached under his arms, dug her nails into his upper back musculature, and pulled him in closer, like she was about to open up and consume him whole. The strength of the primal creature within her was growing; she grabbed a fist full of the hair at the back of his head, jerking it back so she could look into his dark covetous eyes and said, “Before that, I want to taste myself on your lips.” Without hesitation he picked her up, legs wrapped around his waist and found her a large finely crafted table to rest upon.

Kneeling down before her, he removed any man-made fabric that obstructed his view of the deliciousness between her thighs. Sharply pulling her forward to the edge, he then grabbed her ankles and put both legs over his shoulders. He loved feeling the weight of them on him; their sensual denseness concealed a heat that, when escaped from between her opened legs, made him wild with thirst. Supporting the small of her back as she lent backwards in throbbing anticipation, he delved into the warm moisture that lay amid the soft inner and outer lips of her intimacy. He wasn’t playing games with her today; he knew the exact flowing patterns to draw on her and make her climax rush forward like a lit match to a fuse. As he nibbled, licked, and sucked on everything he could get his profuse lips on, she writhed around on the table trying not to alert the rest of the ship with her echoing moans of pleasure. She massaged the back of his head as he worked her into a frenzy; she could feel the lukewarm trickle of his efforts slowly trace their way down the space between her two weak spots. The feel of his and her essences wetting the skin on and around her currently unsought to privacy, multiplied her desires exponentially. She grasped his wrist and led him to it. Almost immediately after feeling, the combined, oral, and tactile caresses – her primary opening screamed together with the other in ecstasy as her climax jolted through her entire body – back, front, head to toe, contorting her in wild screeches of passion. Drayke held her tightly by her waist and mid back, supporting her through the convulsions. Just as they settled, he stood up, face and mouth glistening in his achievement and kissed her, in Anissa’s still aroused state – she loved the flavours. Drayke was bulging unashamedly; she could see its promise, and stroked the full length of it before groping as much as she could through his attire. Anissa teased his girth briefly, she could sense his desire to fill her with it until she ached. Biting her lip in expectation, she pulled back just in time to see his mouth move, and a deep tone accompany the words, “Bend over.”